


A Liesmith's Heart

by mandragora2012



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-18
Updated: 2012-04-18
Packaged: 2017-11-03 21:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/386026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mandragora2012/pseuds/mandragora2012
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki lands upon earth after letting go of Asgard.... now what?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginnings

He gasped as the thick earthy scent of soil clogged his nose. His face and left shoulder were pressed into the cold earth in a rather uncomfortable position. As he sat up, he wiped a bit of damp earth from his cheek, a streak of blood coming away on his palm. A scratch ran from his left temple to his cheekbone, and blood trickled down his jaw.   
“Great, just genius” he rumbled to himself. It was night, and he was hard to see, even as he sat, plainly in the middle of a cornfield in the middle of Northeastern Indiana. Just how he got there he couldn’t quite remember. The last thing he remembered was… a swirl of color and a vague thought in his head of wanting to die. Then everything went black. However, he was clearly not dead, that was clear (mostly due to the fact that his shoulder was absolutely screeching at him.) He stood, and was strangely thankful that his clothes had managed to stick around. Then it all hit him as he looked at his clothes. The God of Mischief stumbled backward just as he began to stand up, gasping. Odin, Thor, the Bifrost, it was all rushing back in a horrific wave of hurt. The Bifrost, his way home, his way to any place within the nine realms, almost like a free bus, had been destroyed. The worst part was knowing he’d done it, destroyed it, though not directly. Thor had managed to take care of that with that stupid hammer of his. What an idiot. His cloak, the armor, it was all still there, a bit scraped, but there. The last vestiges of who he had thought he was. Odin’s son. A lie. With a snarl, Loki ripped off the cape, the emerald stitching snapping like twigs. Tears sprang to Loki’s eyes as he thought of home when a thought occurred to him “where am I?” he asked himself aloud, looking around. He tore his chest armor off as well, and began stalking through the corn stalks. “Must be Midgard” he thought to himself, rather disappointed, though it could be worse. He could be floating in space, alone, lost in billions of stars, just waiting to get swallowed by a black hole. Right? Midgard wasn’t that bad, it was only… filled with humans… and humans, and oh dear god more humans. He nearly laughed aloud at the thought, a God of Mischief sent to a place where one of the most naïve, silly beings resided and pretended they ruled all. Hilarious really, their concepts of who was on the top of the food chain. Loki sighed, and clambered over a fence with a little bit of a wince, the fall from Asgard had been a bit rough he supposed, looking around at the flattened broken corn around him. He ran a hand through his inky black hair, which he found was in quite a disarray. Loki glanced at himself, and sighed, armor less and lost, he figured he had nothing else to do rather than keep going here until he found a way back to Asgard. Or maybe… he could get Asgard to come to him, cause a little ruckus, make a little mayhem, have a little fun. That would for sure attract Thor’s attention now wouldn’t it? Especially now that his woman, that woman that had turned his arrogant brother so soft, was down here, maybe… maybe a bit of fun could be had. Pull a few strings; get her in a bit of trouble… perfect bait. As long as he was here, he figured, it would probably do him some good to make use of his time. Never one to be overly lazy, the god of mischief had taken a fondness for not just mischief, but pure undiluted mayhem. Once, as he recalled, he turned a whole street of cars into ice cream. Now THAT was funny, or at least he thought so as he took the Bifrost back to Asgard.   
The Bifrost.  
It all came back to him again as he stepped from the cornfield onto a dirt road. His shoes made soft crunching sounds as he began walking; he found it to be probably quite futile if he tried to fly anywhere, for he knew not even where he was. Headlights sprang over the hill from time to time, more often as dawn approached. No one stopped. Of course, he did look rather strange; with knee high boots, a simple shirt and pants that people of this era no longer wore. His hair was long, and straight, dangling just below his earlobes. Fierce green eyes gleamed from under narrow black brows. Each time someone honked, Loki snapped his fingers, and the horn ceased to work, no matter what. The disgraced God of Mischief was in no mood for human shenanigans. If not for some very small ounce of self-preservation he probably would have shoved a fist into the front of one of the vans, just to see their reactions. His shoes hit dully on the road as he walked, dawn coming in silence. Of course they were nothing compared to the wondrous Asgardian sunrises, but for now he figured they would have to do.  
He shook his head, clearing his mind of Asgard, it only brought back painful memories of home, of Odin’s betrayal, Thor, and his adoptive mother, Frigga, the only one in the entire family who had really come to get to know him, tricksterish as he was. He thought of Thor once more, his brother. No. They weren’t brothers, they never had been. Not by blood, but somehow that had been by heart. It made his own black heart hurt just a little thinking about it.  
As he saw it now, though, all that had changed. He was no longer a trickster, looking for meaning, for purpose. He was Loki Laufeyson, a god, a Jotun, also known as a Frost Giant, and most importantly, himself. He knew what he was, a sense of identity flooded over him for the first time since he had noticed Odin’s clear preference for Thor all those years ago. A devilish smirk rolled across his rather pale face.   
First though, he’d have to get himself to a city, or at least some place that offered food. He was in luck, within a couple miles, Loki ran into an old diner alongside the road, dirty and desolate, but satisfactory. Now, since Loki had been here many times before, he still had a few Midgardian dollars jammed in his pocket. Unlike Thor, he knew the customs of these people, and soon had in front of him a rather large bowl of what looked to be oatmeal but what tasted to be wallpaper paste. He swirled his spoon in it for a moment before sighing, disappointed. Several aging men, both with beards, sat in the diner as well, casting wary glances at the stranger, who ,dressed in such strange clothes, and behaving in such a withdrawn, reticent manner, seemed very odd to them. Not only that, but an air seemed to surround him, one of danger and regality, with a touch of icy despair all at the same time. No one spoke in the diner. It seemed that as soon as Loki had walked in, a hush had fallen over the previously quite friendly attitude of many of the patrons. Loki noticed he seemed to have that effect on humans, especially men. Women on the other hand, seemed rather drawn to him, whether it be due to his chivalrous nature or his thick black hair and emerald eyes he could not tell. He lingered in the diner until almost all the patrons had left, and only then did he speak. “Where is the next town?” he asked “and how far is it?” he added, his voice quiet, polite in the empty diner. The waitress, who had not been expecting to hear this stranger speak, turned toward him, her cheeks reddening slightly. “I’d say about half a mile north, it’s a small place, but it’s something at least.” She shrugged. “There’s a bigger city to the east, that one’s about two miles out, give or take a bit.” She said, clearing his now empty bowl from in front of him. Loki smirked, and left a ten on the counter, “keep the change” he nodded. After all, he wouldn’t need it before long now would he? He would have everything he needed within a few days, an army, probably of frost giants (whom he rightfully ruled, having killed their leader, his own father, the previous night) a new weapon, and a world of his own to rule.   
This time, he easily hijacked a small rather junky car from the parking lot, hotwiring it with way too much ease. It was cramped, and smelled of cheese, but it was awfully better than walking. He sighed, and flicked the radio on with a tap of one of his rather long delicate fingers. He sighed once more, as the most detestable of human music played, country. With a growl, he flicked the radio off with a snap, rolling his emerald eyes alongside an exasperated sigh.   
A few miles outside the city, he stopped the car. He twirled his fingers in front of him, the casket landing with a pleasantly solid thump. The casket Odin had stolen from the Frost Giants. It glowed in his hands, slowly turning his skin its natural shade of dark icy blue, his eyes beginning to take on a red hue. He snarled in disgust at his own heritage for a moment, and began an incantation, an old one that the old sorcerer Eldred had taught him all those years ago. If you had a piece of something from that world, you could trace it back to its origins. Jotunheim, land of the frost giants, that’s where Loki wanted to go. Loki landed with a thud, swirling his hands, the casket disappearing form view. Ragged as he was, the land of the frost giants looked far worse.   
Jotunheim was a mess, as Loki had duly expected, and as soon as he stepped onto the icy land, he was immediately ambushed. Five Jotun giants, which he dispatched with a flick of his hand. Loki stood tall “I am your king now!” he declared, Staring around at the gathering beasts with a sneer. Snatching the casket shard in his hand, he held it high, letting his hand, then his arm and shoulder turn blue. Several frost giants looked baffled, but as his face began going azure in hue, their eyes seemed to widen in what seemed to be a look of shock. It was clear by the swirling marks on his angular face. He was, after all, the previous king’s son. Before long, he had a phalanx of around eighty frost giants in command of the rest of the warriors. He’d told them he’d call for them when needed, and if they dare not heed his call they would have no heads. It was clear he meant it, even as his emerald eyes flicked to their faces, a look of revulsion yanking across his face. This race, a race he had once tried to destroy, a race that was him, he was now employing as soldiers, soldiers in a war he was going to win.  
Loki landed near the big city, appearing near a billboard, a deadly smirk on his pale face. His eyes glinted hungrily. By this time, he’d conjured up a suit, dark and dapper, with a dark simple tie. A pale scarf flecked with dark thin stripes hung around his neck. A single lock of dark hair flopped in his face, maybe he’d let his hair grow out a bit, get some new armor, change it up. He was well on his way to having a world of his own already; and he’d only been here for not even 24 hours.


	2. Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >) it begins

Heimdall let out a long sigh, his head hanging as he stood at the broken edge of the Bifrost. His golden eyes closed, his helmet gleaming in the sun. Trickster King Loki had not perished, he knew that, but he had never though the prince would attempt this type of mayhem. However, he knew that if he expressed his sight to Thor, Thor would break apart. Heimdall’s eyes snapped open, flicking to a figure walking down the rainbow bridge toward him. The red cape was unmistakable. Thor. Heimdall straightened.   
“I suppose you come for news of Jane Foster?” he asked, his golden eyes flicking to Thor’s blue eyes. Heimdall noticed a swarming sadness in the God of Thunder’s eyes. It unsettled him. Thor merely nodded.   
“She is thoroughly engrossed in her work sir, she still searches for you.” He nodded. “Though her accomplice, Selvig… I cannot see” he said, frowning.   
Thor frowned “What? How can you not see him..?” a thought must have struck Thor, for he cut off the end of his sentence abruptly. Thor’s mind flicked to one individual, one whom he’d longed to see for three days. Loki was the only one he knew of who could hide his own presence or the presence of others from Heimdall.  
“Heimdall, what are you not telling me?” Thor immediately rumbled. Heimdall sighed; he’d said too much already, what a fool.  
“He’s alive isn’t he?” Thor pressed, taking one of Heimdall’s broad shoulders. Heimdall didn’t nod, but it was clear by his silence he was affirming Thor’s assumption.  
“Get this Bifrost operational, NOW” Thor growled, turning, leaping, flying back to his father. Heimdall sighed, and knelt, pressing his palms to the Bifrost’s ragged edge, muttering incantations. It would be a while. By then it might be too late to save Midgard.   
Loki emerged from the subway in New York, dressed once more in his suit. He chuckled at his own prowess. He knew that before long, these S.H.I.E.L.D. people would be on his case, for he’d left a rather obvious trail, but he’d done that for fun. He wanted a fight, a bit of mayhem. A sneer spread across his face as he walked across the street. His suit jacket was a bit longer than usual, and he rather enjoyed that, reminded him of a cape. That’s when it hit him, a long coat was perfect! Armored and protective, but not nearly as restrictive as a suit of armor, and definitely no helmet! That thing turned his brains to scrambled eggs. He smirked, and headed down the street. A now banished magician lived down here somewhere, someone who would be able to fit him with something a little more battle hardy than a simple three piece suit.  
A small family walked past with two boys. Both boys were running down the sidewalk, playing tag in a joyous manner. One was rather chubby and blonde, the other taller, a bit narrower, and dark haired. Loki’s eyes snapped a little wider, and he stepped aside, his heart skipping a beat. That could have so easily been him and Thor many years ago. His eyes began to water, a lump rising in his throat. It wasn't composed of sorrow, but of hate. He made it to the magician’s small shop. It was small, and cramped, cluttered yet somehow organized. A thick smell of pungent herbs hung in the warm damp air. Trinkets of all sorts, from innocent porcelain dolls to garish voodoo styled skulls packed the shelves, books piled on the floor, the smell of mold thick in the dank air. Loki’s nose wrinkled, and he shoved a lock of hair out of his face. It flopped back. A beaded curtain shifted, and a tall, thin man stepped out of the back room. He was pale, and gaunt, dressed in a meticulous black suit, a lopsided purple hat strewn carelessly onto his fanatical steel grey hair.  
“Odin’s beard! Loki is that you?” the older man asked in a high squeaky voice, slipping a pair of grubby glasses onto his face. The man’s eyes were a bright pale blue, and lit as he recognized the slim figure in front of him. “My gods’ boy! It’s been a while hasn’t it!?” he laughed, placing his knobbly hands on Loki’s strong shoulders.   
Loki gave a halfhearted smirk “yes, it has been, Eldred. How have you been?” he asked his smooth voice polite. Loki gave a single chuckle. He took Eldred’s glasses off the older man’s face, and wiped them clean on his scarf.  
Eldred chuckled “I’ve been all right, but what are you doing here?”  
Loki laughed a mirthless laugh, and smirked at Eldred. “It’s a long story, but I have a request, are you up to it?” the old man nodded, “yes of course my boy what is it?” he asked rather eagerly.  
A few minutes later, Loki walked out with a rather large parcel tucked under one long arm. His new suit. It was perfect. It still smelled of the moldy old shop, but other than that, it was nearly flawless. The metal shoulder guard and arm guards were made of the finest steel Eldred could find in his shop, laced with many protective enchantments. It was becoming dark, streetlights flicking on as Loki walked past. It was drizzling, Loki’s hair damp, clinging to the back of his neck. He turned a corner when he heard someone yelling. It sounded like a woman. Loki frowned, and sped up his pace. Then he saw her. With her forehead against a door, a woman was practically crying. Loki’s dark brows knitted together as he hopped up the several paces to the door.  
“Lady? Does something trouble you?” he asked, his emerald eyes glittering in the light of the streetlamp. She turned suddenly, her eyes were red, teary, and her hair was disheveled. Dressed in a short coat, skinny jeans, and a small hat, she looked rather childish. Couldn’t be over the age of twenty five, he supposed. Her hair was blonde, nearly the color of his maid, Sigyn’s, hair. Loki wondered absently what Sigyn was doing now? Mourning his apparent death? Working for his brother perhaps? The last thought nearly made him gag. Sigyn was too delicate and kind to work for Thor.   
“Hey? Uhm… were you talking ta me?” The woman or rather girl asked. Her voice was sharp, rather androgynous, but attractive, Loki found. He blinked, snapping back into reality with a rush.  
“Uh… aye, I was. Are you all right? I noticed you crying just a minute ago” he nodded.   
The girl seemed to pout, and looked at the ground, though her cheeks flushed a bit. God who the hell was this guy? He was SEXY!   
“Yeah uhm, well, I kinda just got thrown out, no rent this month” she chuckled nervously, running her hand through her pale hair.  
Loki frowned “do you need a place to stay?” Homeless people had always struck a sympathy cord with Loki for some reason. She looked at him curiously for a moment. Her eyes were a pale blue grey, and locked with his emerald ones for a moment.   
“Uh… but I don’t even know you” she said, a nervous smile creeping across her face. Her lips were slightly chapped. Loki waved a hand “I swear I’m not some creeper” he chuckled. She looked at him warily. Okay yeah he didn’t seem creepy, but he wasn’t…. normal looking. Cheekbones that could cut through ice, pale skin, black hair slicked back, tall, rather skinny. Piercing green eyes. He reminded her of a panther. Dangerous, but benevolent all at the same time. He gave a tentative smile at her, flashing bright, absolutely perfect teeth, and it was over. Loki’s incessant charm had got her like a mouse in a mousetrap.  
“Okay yep, let’s go” she smiled, walking toward him, drawn in by his undeniable appeal. Loki smiled, and offered to take her duffel, which by now was just about soaking. The woman, whose name he discovered, was Drew. She was pleasant, but talkative, and seemingly nervous. That was duly noted, and Loki attempted to stay as calm and as least threatening as he could possibly be.  
Drew smirked after a while “so, where d’ya live anyway?” Loki had to stop himself from saying Asgard. Eldred had given him a small rather grubby set of keys to an apartment he often rented out down the street. Eldred had told him it was furnished, though judging from Eldred’s shop, furnished didn’t mean much of anything to the old magician.   
“Just ahead” Loki nodded, fingering the keys. With a flick of his keys, the door swung open. It was small, enough room for two, maybe three. The walls were dark, but the place wasn’t dirty. It was rather clean, and well furnished, with classy older furniture. Loki smirked in apparent favor. He sat the box on a table near the door, and shrugged off his coat and scarf, hanging them on a coatrack. With a flick of his hand the lights clicked on, illuminating the rather homey, warm living room.  
“Whoa, how’d ya do that?” Drew asked, her eyes wide.   
“This? It’s an automatic lighting thing I got installed” he lied, the lie sliding like butter off his tongue. “Are you hungry?” he asked, noting the rumbling of his own stomach. She nodded, wringing her hands together, trying to warm herself. As Loki walked away from her, she noticed just how well muscled he was now that his coat was off. Drew’s cheeks flushed, and she looked away, at the ground for a fleeting moment. She nodded, kicked her shoes off, and followed him to the kitchen, craving pork chops.  
Thor ran his hand along the burnished gold surface of the new Bifrost. It was more beautiful than its predecessor, if that could be so. “Ready Heimdall?” he asked, his deep voice flecked with anticipation and worry. Heimdall gave the barest hint of a smirk, and nodded slightly. “Yes, I believe it is ready for use” he replied, stepping inside the domelike structure. With a rush of wind and color, Thor landed, not ungracefully, in the same place he had appeared last time: right outside of Albuquerque.   
Loki awoke with a gasp, coated in a cold sweat. His hair clung to his scalp, breath coming in fast, shallow gulps. As he calmed, he ran a hand through his hair, pulling his dark hair back into some sort of organized form. He flung his legs over the edge of the mattress, which was lumpy and almost uncomfortable, and placed his head in his hands, silent tears running down his pale face. His shoulders trembled for a moment while he composed himself. Nightmares. They’d plagued him every night for nearly a week now. With a sigh, he got up, ripped his now damp shirt off, and padded out to the kitchen. The floor was cold, which felt very good on the bottoms of his feet. Drew was still asleep. She held a job at a local café as a barista, and often worked rather late at night, so he let her sleep as much as she pleased. Though Eldred took care of the rent, Loki still felt exceedingly responsible for the upkeep of this place. He washed the dishes by hand, not knowing how to operate the dishwasher, and scrubbed them dry with a clean cloth. The monotonous clatter of plates was loud in the early light streaming through the window. He thought of home as rain began to pound outside, pouring down the window. He remembered the sound of rain hitting the roof of his room, the slight metallic sound of made as it ran down the slanted roof, dribbling through the gutters and down into the courtyards. Drew stumbled out into the kitchen. Drew was a pleasant enough companion he supposed… but a bit too talkative.  
She was attractive, that Loki had noticed, but… too bold and talkative for his taste. He remembered his maiden back in Asgard, Sigyn. She had always been quiet and obedient, but tasteful and confident. He sighed, and placed his hands on the side of the sink, just thinking to himself for a moment. Over the past few days he’d visited Jotunheim often, though nothing seemed to ever change. Except for him. Every time he went, his heart grew… chillier, distant. From Drew, from the Jotuns, from his memories, from everything. It was as though his deep rooted pain had begun to fossilize. He didn’t feel anymore.  
Drew rubbed her eyes, her clothing rumpled. They’d been here for a week, and this odd man, Loki she had learned, had said barely a word. She found his reticent nature a bit odd, but then again, she was a chatterbox herself. “good morning” she mumbled. No reply. That was nothing new. Though, this morning he seemed to be in a much more sour mood. As she approached him where he stood at the sink, the air began to… chill. Odd, she thought to herself. However, her gutsy spirit pushed her forward. She froze as she saw his hands. They were blue. Not blue as in under oxygenated, but blue, like pigmented blue, with near black nails and swirls arcing on the skin. She gasped, and took a step back, tripping on her own feet. She landed rather hard on the linoleum floor, and scrambled backwards. “wh-what are you!?” she nearly screeched, her thin blond eyebrows knitting together in fear. Her breathing was fast and shallow, adrenaline kicking through her system.  
Loki whirled, his eyes reddish in the dim morning light. He gasped, and stumbled backwards himself, shaking his hands, and arms, running them under warm water, trying to get the blue to dissipate. “Shit shit shit!!” he snarled, his pale skin returning within a few minutes. Reminder to self: never do dishes in chilled water, no matter how good it feels. He saw Drew then, on the ground, clearly scared and panicking. “Oh snap…. Drew I can explain” he said, crouching to his knees, crawling toward her. Drew lashed out with a foot, whalloping the God of Mischief in the face with a rather smelly foot.  
“Back off iceman!” she yowled, scrambling to her feet, defensive. Loki pressed a hand to his nose, blood running into his palm. Pain rippled up the bridge of his straight, aquiline nose. With a wince, he ran two long pale fingers along his nose, hearing and feeling the broken bone slip and snap back into place. When he looked up, Drew was standing there, an apologetic look on her face, a damp, cool cloth in her hand. Her cheeks flushed as she handed the cloth to him. “here, it’ll help with the bleeding” she said. “I’m so sorry.. I just… well, with that blue skin and funky red eyes you kind of…” she trailed off.  
“Scared you?” Loki asked. Well of course he’d scared her, it had scared him the first time he’d seen it, when that frost giant’s icy sausage like fingers closed around his forearm. Drew nodded, her cheeks reddening adorably once again. She was quiet for once. Loki gave an awkward smirk, took the cloth, and pressed it to his still bleeding nose. His nose, fingers, and upper lip began to go blue at the contact with the icy cloth. Drew crouched to come eye level with where Loki sat on the floor, legs folded sinuously under him.   
“Wh-what are you?” she asked, fear and curiosity reflected in her stormy blue grey eyes. Loki held up a finger, and with the cloth still pressed to his face, he got up, and picked up a book from a nearby shelf. He handed it to Drew. It was thick, and old, when opened it held the slight stench of mold, decay, and dust. On the front, silver lettering typed out the words Norse Mythology. As Drew began to flip through it while Loki sat back down on the floor. “oh god… you’ve got a god complex have ya?” she snorted. “Think you’re Loki or something?” she laughed, clearly unbelieving in myths. Her sarcasm and incredulity made Loki sigh internally. “precisely” he replied, shoving a lock of black hair out of his face. His nose had stopped bleeding, and now he held the slightly bloody towel in his lap, looking at Darcy with jade green eyes. “whoa whoa whoa mister delusional, no you aren’t. He’s FIC-TION-AL” she snorted, closing the old book with a thunk. Loki facepalmed, with a deep, frustrated sigh. He should have never even taken her in. Drew got to her feet, snickering. “and I thought I could trust you. First you take me in, treat me well, give me a place to stay, but now you pull this on me? This…. Rubbish?” she snorted, her emotions boiling over. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I thought you were all right too” she said, her voice breaking.   
“But I am!” Loki half yowled, shooting to his feet. “I AM Loki! That’s me! How else could I do this?” he asked. The towel was in his hand, but it wasn’t a towel anymore. It was a writhing ferret, held it’s tail in the air. Drew gasped and stepped back. Her eyes were wide, watery, and clouded with disbelief.   
“B-but you.. myths aren’t real!” she snorted. Loki shook his head slowly, and grasped her shoulders in his hands, his grip tight yet gentle. She was shaking.   
“They are real, Drew, ad real as you standing here right here right now” he said, his green eyes drilling into hers, trying to make her understand what he knew to be true. He spoke to her using his mind, pressing his consciousness against hers, something he hadn’t done in years. Drew’s eyes lit as he pulled his mind away from hers. Her hands drifted to her temples, rubbing small circles in her skin. “so you really aren’t shitting me are you?” she whispered, taking a step back as Loki released his grip.   
“Do you see now?” he asked, his dark narrow eyebrows rising in question.   
She nodded “yeah, I’m living with a freaking Norse God!” she yelped, sitting in a nearby armchair. She sounded happy, yet shaken. “But… then what’re you doing here of all places?” she asked, suddenly getting up and beginning to pace. Restlessness coiled around her like a snake, like she wanted to run down the street screaming Loki’s secret. It made Loki jumpy and nervous, much like when Thor would catch him in a trick, and try to tattle on him to Odin. He refused to call Odin father anymore. He wasn't his father, never was, never would be.   
Drew was still pacing, her feet slapping the hard floor with rather annoying fwapping sounds. “would you just sit down!” he snapped, his voice rising to a precarious level, temper flaring for a single moment. He was dangerous. She had to get that through that thick skull of hers, that with a flick of his hand he could kill her, wound her, mess her mind up so bad she would never speak again. Long tethered anger exploded outward in a ripple, a supernova of tense indignation. Drew had the sudden, terrified look of a deer in headlights, her storm grey eyes wide in shock as she sank obediently into a chair. She reminded him so much of Sigyn. Sigyn, home, the lies, and the betrayals.   
He glared at her for a moment, his chest heaving, his green eyes venomous in the early morning light that now streamed through the window.   
“You want to know why I’m here?” he growled. “I’m here because of a lie, a man that stole me from my family, because of promises made and broken, lies kept and told.” He snarled, his face strained, brows knit together in anger and sorrow.  
Drew saw him retreating into himself, and without thinking she reached out to him. He flinched away at first, but looked at her. His emerald eyes were fierce, burning with cold determination.   
“Stay here” he said quietly. He stormed out of the door, snatching up the parcel he’d left at the door over the past week. It was time for hell. Drew watched him storm down the street for a moment before he vanished, no flash of light, sound or anything accompanying his absence, just silence.  
That day, four buildings went up in flame, two carnivals were thoroughly demolished, and Loki made his grand entrance into the scheme of all things involving mayhem.


	3. Mischief

A blue chill arced across the glass ceiling above the power source, the box, Loki had so deliberately pursued these past few weeks. As the Liesmith appeared, perching upon the glass above, the shadows of his boots creating foot shaped dark spots on the cool glass. A sly smile curled across his face, and his green eyes seemed to glow in the night’s darkness.  
With a whoosh, Loki landed below, crouching over the small, bluish white cube. This cube, a relentless battery of power, was just the thing he needed to boost the already incredibly destructive power of the casket of Eternal Winters to a level equal or greater to that of the last Ice Age. He smiled, pleased as he thought of all the threats he could make to the world’s leaders if they refused his rule. Eternal winter, frost so severe livestock would freeze where they stood. Perfect. No competent leader could refuse this.  
He swept up the cube with a whirl. A siren began to wail, a high keening sound. The warm suddenly seemed warm, a bit too warm, the residual heat from the cube still impregnating the room with an unusual, unearthly heat. A thin sheen of sweat beaded on Loki’s brow, not out of nervousness or fear, but merely out of the incredible heat wafting around the room. Though uncomfortable, the heat was bearable to him, though for many Frost Giants it would probably result in death. Loki crouched, his spear materializing in his palm, a long shining golden weapon, a fluorescent blue stone glowing dangerously at the end. Loki looked up into the eyes of twelve, immediately frightened guards, all holding rather puny looking weapons, guns if he recalled correctly. With a snarl, the god leapt, swinging madly with his bladed spear, the golden shaft glinting in the light. With not a single bullet fired, the guards lay on the ground like broken china, faces ashen in the dim moonlight coming through the unbroken glass pane above. With another, twisted cruel smile, Loki began striding, gleefully down the hall.   
The building smelled sterile, sanitary, official. Weak, Loki thought, mortals trying so vainly to keep their things safe. The alarm screeching into the air still, Loki waved a pale hand, the alarm ceasing immediately. By the time he left, eight guards lay in Loki’s wake, either dead or mortally wounded, one with a small silver dagger hilt deep in his skull, eyes fixed glazed at the ceiling. Athin smile curled across Loki’s lips as a dark SUV pulled up, driven by none other than a Frost Giant, one not much larger than himself.   
“Well done Jyarndir” he sneered, clambering up onto the roof, crouching, ready for any coming attack. Within moments, all hell had broken loose. Two of the Avengers had shown up, Hawkeye and Black widow to be exact. As Loki dismounted from the SUV, he began to analyze the situation, his mind running at a million miles an hour. From what Loki could tell, they were trying to keep him still while the other, larger counterparts were on their way. They were bound to fail. Which so far, they were. Loki Laughed, stopping another of Hawkeye’s bullet with a flick of his fingers, catching Black widow’s ankle as she swung a kick at him. He smirked, a sly grin spreading across his face, and twisted, hearing something snap. A tendon. Black Widow crumpled, clutching her freshly sprained, already swelling ankle. Now it was only Hawkeye to deal with. Simple enough. Loki pulled a silver dagger from his belt, flinging it with a flick of his wrist, slicing the main string to Hawkeye’s bow with a twang. Hawkeye snarled as Loki vanished from sight, waving in a teasing manner, his coat flapping like the wings of a demented bird.  
As morning encroached upon the city, fog hung in a sheet across the sky. The air was damp but cold, unusually so for May.The sun was trying in vain to peek through the fog, weak yellowy orange rays sneaking through patches in the morning haze hanging on the city. A piercing laugh filled the early morning. Birds fell silent.   
Loki laughed, dashing through main street, Iron Man in hot pursuit. Loki’s clothes billowed as he ran, his spear in hand, leaping from the roof of one car to another, having some fun. With a snarl, he turned, hands glowing greenish blue, and leapt, clinging to the flying Iron Man. With one kick, he nailed Stark in the shoulder, hearing a click and a snap. Perfect. With a sly glint in his eyes, Loki locked his spear in the slim gap between pieces of Starks armor. He twisted his spear, and Iron Man growled as his shoulder dislocated. Loki ripped his spear out of the gap, and yanked hard on Ironman’s dislocated right shoulder, causing Stark to spiral sideways. With a crash, they spiraled into the side of an apartment building, drywall, wood, and furniture splintering and flying about.  
Iron Man crawled to his feet, and with a rumble, a metallic sound came from him “Avengers Assemble” he snarled. Loki snorted, and stepped back. A crash echoed from behind him, and he felt something, or rather someone tug at his cape. In a rush of wind, Loki snarled, trapped by this mysterious opponent he could not see.  
Then, he was free, released, falling. Loki growled, landing roughly on a steep embankment on the outskirts of the city, skidding down the slope into a shallow watery ditch, his boots sliding a bit in the mud. Thor slid down after him, making much deeper ruts in the soggy waterlogged soil. Both were beaten and scraped, Thor’s cape was in tatters, Loki’s coat smeared with dirt and blood, both his own and others. Loki really wasn’t all that surprised, he’d figured Thor had a hand in this somewhere. He always would.   
“Brother! Why!?” Thor growled, a look of anger and slight confusion erupting across his face. Loki smirked.   
“I’m not your brother Thor! I thought I told you that last time we met?” he sneered, his emerald eyes flickering across Thor. He looked the same, as always, blonde, blue eyed, the usual hunk he’d always been. Loki’s heart pounded as he backed up, his spear at his side, fearless. Thor advanced. Loki leapt with a feral snarl, steel encasing his heart as his green eyes locked with Thor’s blue. Vibrations rang through Loki’s arms as their weapons clashed again and again, neither gaining ground. Loki snarled, and swung his spear, the blade catching on Thor’s cape, ripping a long gash in it. Thor shot an elbow out, catching Loki in the shoulder, knocking him sideways. Loki stumbled, and grabbing Thor’s shoulder armor, dragged the much larger adversary down into the thin layer of water alongside him. Fear clenched Loki’s gut, his pulse pounding in his ears. Thor easily pinned Loki, no surprise, but Loki was smarter. Not supposing any others to be around, he shoved a knee into his brother’s stomach, shoving the blond haired man off of him with a grunt. Loki rolled out from under him with ease, jabbing his spear into the gap in Thor’s armor between his neck and shoulder, the blade glinting dangerously.   
A sudden sharp pain erupted in the Liesmith’s side, a fire spreading through the lower right side of his ribcage. He let out a cry like a wounded animal, and staggered backward, his pale hands flying from his spear to the shaft of the arrow protruding from just under his ribcage, the leather around the wound becoming slick with thick, hot blood. He looked at Thor, his usually glowing green eyes darkening in pain, fear coating his features for a moment. Thor’s sapphire eyes met those darkening eyed of his brother, and he shot to his feet, catching the other as Loki sagged, his face suddenly looking ashen and bleached. Thor shot a venomous glare at Hawk eye, who stood above, on the edge of the gully, a fresh bow strung, poised, ready to shoot again if the need arose. Loki struggled against Thor, though wounded he still did not care to be in the arms of Thor, no matter the circumstance. “Get off me” he hissed, his voice halting and quiet. It was clear he was having trouble breathing as he snapped the arrow’s shaft with a wince. Loki did not fear death, he would heal from this, he had had worse before. Blood began to sheet the wet ground under him as Loki struggled to stand, glaring defiantly at those surrounding him. As Hawkeye let another arrow fly, Loki vanished, apparently still capable of whatever magic it took to transport himself home.  
With a thump, Loki landed just inside the door to the apartment, stumbling forward, his hands stil clinging to his bloody, wounded side. The Liesmith leaned on the wall, and took two steps forward, a bloody streak on the wall in his wake. Drew must have heard the thump, and Loki found it no surprise to see her a few seconds later, as his vision began to darken and he crumpled like a rag to the floor, two thoughts crossed his mind. He had the cube, and his side hurt quite a lot.  
Thor paced, as he did often these days within Avengers Central HQ. His heart was breaking, whether the others saw it or not. The God of Thunder ran a hand through his wavy blonde hair, light streaming in from the floor length window illuminating the side of his face as he walked.  
“Thor would you chill out!!?” Clint snapped as he walked by, spying Thor pace, again. “it’s been two weeks! Nothing has happened Thor, he’s gone! That arrow went too deep, there’s no way he could have made it” he said rather coldly. “He’s not even your brother, I don’t know why you care so much” he sighed. Thor whirled, fury coating his face.  
“He is my brother! No matter the blood we do not share, we are brothers, Hawkeye” he snarled, advancing upon his comrade, slamming the door in Clint’s face. Clint sighed, and continued down the hall toward lunch. Thor sank onto the mattress, his head in his hands. Clint’s words seemed to echo in his mind, dead….dead…dead. Thor just couldn’t believe it. Even as he’d seen a light leave his brother’s eyes, he knew, that despite the crimson on his own hands, Loki would make it. He always did.


	4. Malevolence

Drew watched pink swirl down the drain for a moment before glancing over her shoulder, glancing over to where Loki lay, prone and pale n the couch. Her newfound friend had scared her half to death that morning, expecially as he crumpled to the floor, wounded in the hallway, like a marionette cut from its strings, the broken shaft of an arrow protruding from his side. For a fleeting moment, Drew wondered why she hadn’t just taken him to the emergency room. Then again, all the questions they would ask definitely wouldn’t help her already perpetually nervous spirit. Besides, with Loki being a god and all, he would probably have some sort of anomalies right? She was yanked from her reverie by a groan which came from the liesmith as he began to regain consciousness. She was silent as she all but dashed to him, worried he’d try to move and rip his homemade stitches open.  
Loki Tried to sit up, but was met with a fiery blast of pain from his right side, and a pair of gentle hands pressing on his shoulders, subtlely forcing him back down. For a fleeting moment, he thought of Sigyn’s touch, and how gentle she had always been, whether he had need of her kindness or not. With a snap, eyes watering just a little, he snapped back into reality.  
“W-what time is it?” he stammered, eyelids flicking open, his emerald eys no longer glowing, but dark with exhaustion and pain. He glanced around, his mind racing for a moment, not recognizing the living room immediately. With a sigh, he remembered where he was, and with whom. He settled down, closing his eyes with a sigh. The couch smelled of leather, sweat, and metal. He didn’t appreciate it. He attempted to sit up again, back protesting lying at such a flat angle. Drew’s hands once again appeared on his shoulder, pushing him back. It frustrated him that a mortal woman was taking the reins for once.  
“Whoa whoa whoa, do you want to rip your stitches out?” she asked, a look of slight annoyance rolling across her face, her stormy grey eyes exasperated. Loki looked down, past her hands. He had no shirt on, revealing his satisfactory abdominal muscles. He had no shirt on, but a thick white gauzy bandage wrapped from midway down his ribcage to just above his right hip, concealing the thick, clotted wound Hawkeye’s arrow had so easily created. He frowned, thin brows knitting together. He looked up at Drew for a moment.  
“Well? Are you going to answer my question?” he asked, perking a single brow in question  
Drew smiled gently, a playful smirk in her eyes. A single finger poked his lips, silencing the god with a single simple movement. She nodded, and her finger began to slide down his chin, falling on the area between his collarbones, arcing down his chest, stopping at his navel, where her finger rested.   
“I saved your ass. Pulled the shaft of an arrow from your side, though I think you figured that out on your own.” She replied. Although he was a god, Drew did worry about him. He’d lost quite a bit of blood from what she could tell, and judging from how pale and cold his skin was, it would be at least a couple of days before he’d be anywhere near ship shape again. Drew’s brows furrowed and she got up “I’ll get you a drink, you’re looking a little peaky” she said, noting how pale he had become just within the past few minutes of waking up.  
Loki sighed as she left him, and went to sit up. He had found, over the past few centuries, that getting up at least a little seemed to help him feel better, even if it was only in his mind. Wincing as he moved, a sharp burning pain arced up his side. His right hand flew to the gauze covering the wound, and he began to whisper, planning on using magic to at least ease the pain. As greenish sparks flicked and died in his palm, and his skin merely itched, he knew it was futile.His magic, no matter how powerful it was, was simply unsustainable by this wounded body. With an exasperated growl, he sighed, and leaned back, exhausted by that small effort of magic alone. He would just have to wait to continue on with his plan until his body healed, for Eldred knew only offensive magic, not how to heal a wound. At least he wasn’t alone, he thought to himself as Drew returned, a bowl of tomato soup and a mug of coffee on a tray, which she sat in front of him. “everything look satisfactory?” she asked, one corner of her mouth puling up n a kind smile, her eyebrows rising as she perched on the couch at his feet. She grabbed a blanket from under the side table, and draped it over his legs and feet. Loki gave a faint smile, and nodding, picking up the spoon and digging into the soup.  
“How do you feel?” she asked, perking a brow, looking at him out of the corner of her grey eyes. She found it hard to keep the butterflies in her stomach quiet every time she looked at him. Wounded and peaky looking as he was, it was a great pleasure to see those… well… godly muscles bared once again. Her cheeks reddedned for a second as she awaited his reply.  
Loki looked at her with a look that spoke louder than words. “I feel as though I’ve been shot with an arrow” he chuckled, wincing slightly. His voice was clearly tired, but thick with sarcasm. Drew smiled good naturedly, “by the way, it’s almost noon, you’ve been out since five A.M. You gave me a heart attack this morning though… can you please not do that again?” she asked, looking at him. He nodded once in silence, and looked at the tray, the half full bowl of soup, the cooling cup of coffee. She was such a good woman, she didn’t deserve to have him on her back.   
“I am sorry Drew, I seem to be little more than a heap of trouble for you” he murmured, a forlorn look on his drawn face. His lips drew into a thin line. He suddenly seemed ten years older, wiser, and yet… colder. Drew’s brows furrowed, and she gave him a long hard look.   
“Now you listen here mister grumpy pants” she said, placing a hand on one of his knees. “You aren’t any trouble at all. Maybe a little mischievous, but not trouble to me. If you were trouble, I would have kicked you out the door and let you just die out on the landing” she smirked with a laugh. “But I didn’t, so you’re welcome, now eat up” she said, patting his knee once before getting up, walking into the kitchen once more. Loki glanced after her for a moment, and sighed, knowing somehow that she was right.


	5. Never

The night was young. Bright purple and pink swatches dotted the horizon, last vestiges of the dying sunlight. The sun had only just sunk below the horizon. The horizon was smooth, dotted here and there by tall scraggly trees, their branches aching for more sunlight as night approached. Thor and Hawkeye sprawled on the roof of Avengers HQ. On their backs, hands folded behind their heads, they watched the night come on. Stars began to twinkle merrily in the thick dark blanket of the sky, silent and watchful. To Thor, these were not the stars he had grown up with. These were alien constellations, unable to be put into images, patterns etched in a sky not his own. Thor let out a heavy sigh, nearly breaking a thick heavy silence. Quite honestly, every night he looked at the stars, he thought of home. Home inevitably brought thoughts of his brother Loki as well. He missed his brother, and probably always would. But after three months even he had begun to doubt the possibility of his brother’s survival. Of course, this skeptical belief had spread like wildfire through both the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. and many guards had been lowered. Even Jane hadn’t heard anything, and she was typically the first person he knew to find anything of rare or unusual circumstance. Rarely did Thor ever show his grief, but lately he had found that, when alone, he often found himself reminiscent, drifting off into memories that he could never forget. His brother snarling at him, spitting like an angry cobra that night on the Bifrost, asking him if it all was madness. It had all been madness, but Thor would never admit that. The others had noticed his reticence, that much was clear. Stark steered clear of him, Hawkeye just stayed quiet. Though, from the questioning glances from Steve Rogers and Natascha Romanoff, Captain America and Black Widow, he knew they could empathize. Steve who had lost Bucky, his early sidekick, was always seemingly ready to chat. However, Natascha seemed to be a much harder egg to crack. However, tonight on the roof, tonight would be different.  
For things are never as they seem.


	6. Brother

Hawkeye sighed, and stood “I’m headin’ in, catchya later big guy” he said, skidding off the roof, down the ladder. Thor nodded stiffly, not bothering to glance in Clint’s direction. He still held spite for the mortal, even though deep down he knew that the archer had saved his life that day, as Loki’s spear pressed, cold and sharp against the tender skin of his throat.  
“Aye, farewell archer” he replied, a little late, as he reminisced on the roof.   
A sudden thump of footsteps behind him caused the God of Thunder no alarm. He was used to unexpected landings from the Man of Iron.   
“What do you ask for Tony?” he asked casually, sighing, looking out at the great expanse of forest stretching out in front of him.  
“Ha! You think I’m Tony Stark? I’m rather affronted Thor.” Loki sneered, perched on the spine of the roof.   
Thor gasped, his blue eyes widening as he turned slowly. That voice. It was all too familiar. He had to be dreaming, there was no way in Hel… and yet there he was. His brother. Thor got to his feet, a smile spreading across his face. The smile faded from his face. It was definitely Loki but… something was off, he had changed. Taller, paler, wilder looking, with hair that flared as it lengthened, arcing down his shoulders. Loki’s face was gaunt, and white, and he looked rather unkept. His eyes though were the most disturbing part. They shone a brilliant verdant green, cold, icy almost, no sense of empathy or emotion coming from their dead surfaces at all. Thor gulped like a fish, stepping forward, taking Loki’s thin shoulder in his thick meaty hand.  
“We thought you were dead- we mourned- our father-” Loki pulled away with a sneer, his dark eyebrows furrowing in sudden anger,  
“Your father! Did he not tell you my true parentage?” Loki spat, anger fluching his pale face, cold green eyes flashing dangerously.  
Loki’s nose wrinkled, like an angry animal “I do not see as others see, I do not feel as others feel Thor! And Now I know WHY! I am not like you, I never was” he growled, backing away a couple steps, shooting a malignant glare in Thor’s direction.  
“I never belonged in Asgard, I wil never belong in Jotnheim, I never belonged anywhere. So I will make myself belong” he growled, eye watering, almost in tears. He was snapping.  
“We were raised together. Played together. Fought together. Do you remember none of this?” Thor’s face screamed hurt, and his eyes watered as well. He couldn’t believe this, what did blood matter?  
“What I remember is growing up in your shadow.” Loki growled, spitting out the words he’d wanted to say for years it seemed. He was feeling better already, getting this raw, dangerous emotion off his chest.  
“You must return. We will talk to the Allfather…” Thor pleaded, stepping toward Loki, his brother, his comrade. He didn’t care about the rain that had begun to fall, or the fact that his hammer sat several yards away out of his reach. Loki wouldn’t hurt him… would he? He couldn’t be sure anymore, not with the wild feral gaze his brother was giving.  
“I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE!” The God of Mischief snarled, nearly roaring the words. Loki could feel Thor’s baleful glare upon him, his clothes, scuffed and speckled with dirt; his side, scarred where an arrow should have proved fatal. He smirked, and strode forward. “Abandon them Thor, these lost creatures mortals call upon for petty redemption. Let me have Midgard” he sneered, his nose even with Thor’s. Thor shook his head, stepping backward, grasping his hammer now.  
“you know I can’t let that happen” Thor said, his deep voice resounding, echoing in the coming night. Loki exhaled, annoyed. He stepped back, shaking his head.  
“You always were the noble one” Loki mused, his voice suddenly halting. “I never wanted to be your enemy Thor, and I’m sorry, but this is the way it will have to be” he said, looking at Thor with those cold icy eyes once again. He held his hands in front of him, and swirled them, the casket of eternal winters appearing in his hands. He looked at Thor, then at the casket, and back to Thor.  
“Like I said Thor, I am truly sorry” he said simply, though a malevolent grin curved his mouth.


	7. Heart

The steady hum of blow-dryers echoed in the large cavernous room. Steve sighed, his chin on one hand, the other holding a mid-1980s blow-dryer. It gave an annoying screech of a cry as it blasted hot air at the ice. Meanwhile, stark, in the Iron Man suit, had the hand reactors on low heat, and was practically nodding off at three in the morning, attempting to get the God of Thunder free from a rather ugly looking block of ice. Bruce, meanwhile, was reading the note Loki had left. Bruce ran a hand through his thick curly hair, ands sighed.  
“Well, It’s Asgardian, I can’t read it” Bruce shrugged. “We’ll just have to wait until we get Thor thawed out”   
“That might be a while” Steve, Captain America, snorted derisively. He sighed, and watched the puddle of water under the Ice-Thor slowly grow… this was going to be a while.

Loki was still snickering to himself, remembering Thor’s totally stunned face, as he walked back into the apartment, rapping softly on the doorjamb, announcing his presence. Drew was home at exceptionally early hour, curled on the couch, flicking through a book. It was the book, he noted observantly, he had shown her the first time they had met. He smirked, and came up behind her, silent. His hands clasped around her shoulders. He felt her stiffen, and crouched, his mouth by her ear.  
“How is my favorite mortal?” he hissed, his voice silky and seductive in her ear. His breath was cool on her earlobe, and it made her shiver.  
“Loki, you scared me” she smiled, tilting her head back, lifting her arms around his neck, pulling him close. Loki smirked, and crawled over the back of the couch to sit next to her, wrapping his arms around her. She smiled, and leaned her head onto his shoulder guard.  
“So, how did it go?” she asked conversationally, as if she were asking about how his day at work went. He shrugged “now as good as I would have hoped” he replied. “There are things that disappoint, and though they seem to be attracted to me I don’t let them get to me” he said, a mirthless smile curling on his lips. Drew looked at him, one blonde eyebrow raised “what? You mean your brother’s not coming?” she asked. Loki shook his head once, slowly, almost sadly.  
“No, he isn’t but that’s all right, in all reality we do not need Thor’s assistance. He has grown soft over the past few months. He now associates himself with lost mortals who think they can keep me at bay” he snorted derisively. Drew snickered. Men, eternally competitive. However, Loki’s voice had not just competitiveness involved, but a sort of inconsolable hate involved.   
Drew sighed, falling silent. She put a hand on Loki’s shoulder as he too fell quiet. This was happening more often. They were simply becoming more and more different. These days, since he was healed… well mostly healed, he was less like a cuddly kitten and more like a tom cat who just came around when he smelled food present.   
“I’ll be back” she said “dinner’s a get what you can tonight” she murmured. She got up, and headed for the kitchen, running a hand through her hair.   
“Something troubles you” Loki said, glancing at her, his bright emerald eyes piercing her even as she had her back turned to him. Drew sighed, knowing that he’d weasel it out of her eventually whether she wanted to him or not. But she couldn’t tell him could she? Shoot, he’d saved her from being on the street, she’d saved him from death, they were even right? She shouldn’t be asking for anything more should she? But even now, as she turned, he was taking off his armor, his coat, buckles and clasps clicking and unfastening, she couldn’t help a small blush creep up her face. He was truly godly,  
“You just… you’re so distant” she sighed, taking a step toward him. She sank back onto the couch next to him. He glanced at her, and she looked up to him, green eyes meeting stormy gray-blue. The Liesmith’s eyebrows furrowed together for a moment, an adorable crease forming in the center of his forehead. She looked so much like Sigyn it wasn’t even funny anymore. Her hair was now almost that length, her skin that same porcelain white, eyes swirling and storming. Loki broke eye contact and looked away, conflicted.


	8. Siege

Her fingers tangled in his hair. It was thick and straight, save for the flare at the ends, which she proceeded to play with before her hands lingered to his shoulders and collarbones. He smiled, and skimmed his nose along her collarbone, inhaling her delicate, clean mortal scent. Sigyn once more flooded his mind as Drew’s golden hair caught the light of the moon. He pulled away, shutting off, sudden sorrow seeping into his bones.  
Loki let out a feral growl, and pressed his hands against the couch on either side of her as they laid on the couch, the thick leather smelling warm and comforting. He lifted himself so he was about a foot from her, hovering over her. She smiled gently, and yanked him closer, forbidding him to freeze up on her, almost literally.  
“It’s okay” she whispered in his ear. Her fingers, delicate and warm, traced along the side of his ribs, the muscles of his abdomen, lingering upon the scar under his ribcage. Loki let out a hiss as Drew’s fingers crossed the scar, and their lips collided, crashing together. His icy hands locked around her wrists, his teeth toying with her bottom lip. Loki gave in for once to a mortal, for even he knew not when or if he would ever see Sigyn again. Might as well have some fun.  
Drew awoke alone. She sighed, and wrapped the blanket around her when a sudden, rather erroneous thought hit her. She was in Loki’s room. Alone. Wrapped in dark green sheets. Struggling to stifle a laugh, Drew sat up. Well, that had been a great night. A sudden clatter and banging from the kitchen, followed by a long stream of cursing snapped her attention.   
“Shit! He’s trying to cook!” she yelped, knowing Loki was one of the worst cooks she had ever encountered. She ran down the hall, sheets wrapped around her, skidding on the wooden floor, sweeping clumsily into the kitchen, her shoulder length blonde hair askew, grey eyes wild.  
Loki was casually flipping pancakes… with pots and pans scattered all over at his feet. Drew slapped her palm to her face and sighed, annoyed that he’d given her such a heart attack.  
“What?” Loki asked, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I’m just making some cakes of pan” he said with a shrug, flipping a pancake deftly onto the large serving plate he had, which by this point was nearly already full. Drew snickered.  
A loud crash resounded from outside, the sound of something banging fiercely against the door, a shoulder maybe, or a battering ram. But one thing was sure, someone was trying to get in. Someone who did not have the decency to knock. Loki went stock still, the batter now in the skillet bubbling fiercely as one side began to burn. His eyes, fierce green and penetrating, locked upon the door.  
“Stay here” he said, he murmured, handing her the spatula. He pressed a palm to the door, thin tendrils of green magic spreading from his palm. A look of terror flooded his face, his face draining of all color “drew, run” his whispered. He flicked the door’s lock, and dashed to the couch, where his staff lay. He looked so unpowerful, Drew thought, as he strapped his coat on, leaving the armor where it rested on the couch from the night before. He looked panic stricken as he shoved Drew out the emergency fire hatch down the ladder.  
“Run, I will find you” he said, a fierce, feral conviction in that smooth silky voice of his, flecked with fear and worry. Drew wasn’t so sure of his statement. She clambered out the window, but before that, she managed to steal a quick kiss onto his pale, chilled cheek. A series of bangs, crashes, and other various loud destructive noises ensued, causing Drew to almost climb back up the ladder. But she couldn’t do it. However chivalrous and interesting Loki had been… she couldn’t bring herself to risk her neck for him.  
Part 13  
Loki snarled as a wave of S.H.I.E.L.D. operative crashed through the door. Though outnumbered, they were no match for the God of Mischief. He felt the satisfying crunch of bone as his elbow collided with a man’s ribcage, the shock of impact ran up his arms in a wave as the butt end of his spear broke a man’s nose, sending the nasal bone up into his frontal lobe, killing him almost immediately. The world seemed to go silent for a moment as he whirled quickly, magic flying from his hands, men falling in his wake. A thin sheen of sweat broke out on his brow. A sudden blast of blue white light rang beside his ear. He recognized it immediately. Tony Stark, the man of iron. He smirked. Loki smirked  
“ah… if it isn’t the man of iron, pleasure, how’s that shoulder?” he said conversationally, wiping a streak of blood from his cheekbone. Tony shrugged.  
“nothing a bit of elbow grease couldn’t fix” he said, a hint of menace in the masked man’s voice as it echoed from deep within the crimson and gold suit. “How’s the god of mischief? Making more of it I suppose? At least, that’s what we gathered from your icy little trick there, freezing your own brother” Tony said snarkily. The cocky smirk fell from Loki’s face, morphing instead to a look of aversion and repugnance.  
“He’s not my brother Tony Stark, and I know that you know it. But no, mischief is a small thing, a toy I’ve well used and discarded. This isn’t mischief. This is mayhem. Just watch.” He sneered, stepping forward, green energy lacing the staff he held.   
The next thing the man of Iron would have awakened to was a slight burning sensation in the middle of his chest and a warm trickle of blood running down his temple.  
Loki’s heart pounded in his chest as he ran down the alley, a sharp pain erupting in his left shoulder each time he breathed. The armor he’d managed to strap to his shoulder was bent and dented, pinching the nerves right below his collarbone, sending waves of sharp stabbing pain up his neck and down his arm each time he moved. With a frustrated snarl he quickly undid the latch, and heard the clang of metal hit the ground behind him as he fled. His knuckles white, he leaned against the wall; pulling a hand back through his hair, white fingers streaking through ebony hair. That’s when he noticed the thin trickle of blood running down his chest, a splintered shard of metal poking, splinter-like from his skin. He hissed and yanked it out, feeling a slight burn as the splinter left his flesh. He pressed his palm to the wound, and within minutes, nothing remained. How had they found him? He remembered the smell clinging to the operative’s clothes. Smoky and organic, musty and old… Eldred.   
Eldred had ratted him out.   
He snarled, and continued stalking along the alleyways, sticking to the shadows his cloak billowing as he walked. He couldn’t go back now; they’d be swarming all over the place. He ran, running to the place he knew Drew would go to. By the time he’d rounded the corner, she was gone. They had taken her. His brother had been here, that much was clear by the boot marks, as well as the boot prints of the super soldier, Captain America. He pressed a hand to his face, sliding down a wall, drained. They were here to destroy him, piece by infinitesimal piece. But he wouldn’t let them. There was no way in Hell he would go down without a fight.   
He couldn’t let that happen.


End file.
